Multiform musings on fatherhood and family, from the Heartland

Archive for August, 2009

Our 4-year-old’s been pleading with me lately to help him build a playhouse.

Not a pretend playhouse, mind you, or one made from a miniature-sized kit. He wants the real McCoy. The full-sized, full-featured, structurally sound playhouse. Preferably one in a tree.

I’d love to do it for him, but in my heart of hearts, I know there’s no way. Because, see, I’m no carpenter. I can handle basic woodworking jobs — like, say, gluing a chair back together, or erecting a fort with Lincoln Logs, or building a garage sale sign. Framing work? Fuhgettaboudit.

But he’s convinced that it can happen, because as he’s told me, “You can do it, Daddy. You can make anything.”

He’s seen me work on various odd jobs around the house, change the oil in the car and fix deck boards, so naturally he assumes there’s nothing outside my skillset.

It’s a good facade. I know it won’t last forever. He’ll end up learning what a klutz I really am.

But for now — maybe I should tackle that playhouse job. Maybe he won’t even notice if it doesn’t have a functioning door. Or a floor. Or a structurally sound frame.